A close-fist had his money hoarded Beyond the room his till afforded. His avarice aye growing ranker, (Whereby his mind of course grew blanker,) He was perplexed to choose a banker;
No pond nor pool within his haunt But paid a certain cormorant Its contribution from its fishes, And stocked his kitchen with good dishes.
A Wolf, replete With humanity sweet, (A trait not much suspected,) On his cruel deeds, The fruit of his needs, Profoundly thus reflected.
With a set of uncivil and turbulent cocks, That deserved for their noise to be put in the stocks, A partridge was placed to be reared. Her sex, by politeness revered,
Two demons at their pleasure share our being— The cause of Reason from her homestead fleeing; No heart but on their altars kindles flames. If you demand their purposes and names,
Thrysis—who for his Annette dear Made music with his flute and voice, Which might have roused the dead to hear, And in their silent graves rejoice— Sang once the livelong day, In the flowery month of May, Up and down a meadow brook, While Annette fished with line and hook.
Two parrots lived, a sire and son, On roastings from a royal fire. Two demigods, a son and sire, These parrots pensioned for their fun.
No flowery path to glory leads. This truth no better voucher needs Than Hercules, of mighty deeds. Few demigods, the tomes of fable Reveal to us as being able Such weight of task-work to endure: